VIDEO: Inviting Gratitude
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:48 PM | Comments (1)
July 30, 2008A Thimble's Worth
People ask me what it was like
being with Maharaji five days in a row.
Here's what I tell them:
It was like spinning around in a monsoon, thimble in hand,
trying to catch the rain.
Every time I noticed my thimble was full,
I opened my mouth to sing,
but my mouth filled up with water.
I gulped, I drank,
I bailed my boat of joy.
Somehow,
in between the tidal waves of love
and my odd little habit of trying to understand
what in the world was going on,
I heard what he said:
"Get wet! Get wet!"
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:18 PM | Comments (0)
July 29, 2008Three Yogis in a Cave
So there are these three yogis meditating in a cave. They've been there ten years -- in silence the entire time.
Then one day, in the tenth year of their retreat, an albino mountain lion makes his way to the mouth of the cave and lets out an earth-shattering roar.
Five years pass.
The first yogi says "WOW!"
Another five years pass.
The second yogi, says, "Yeah, I know what you mean, brother."
Five more years pass.
"HEY! If you guys don't shut up," says the third yogi, "I'm moving to another cave."
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:34 PM | Comments (0)
There's a Saint Louis, Missouri... Why Not a Saint Francis?
If you happen to be feeling overwhelmed at the moment, unappreciated, neglected, ignored, unloved, unsettled, diminished, disappointed, disillusioned, disgruntled, or just plain dissed, the following words from Saint Francis -- spoken over 800 years ago -- may be just what the doctor ordered.
By the way, you don't have to be a saint to get the value. Just a human being.
THE SAINT FRANCIS PRAYER
"O Lord, make me an instrument of Thy Peace!
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, harmony;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light, and
Where there is sorrow, joy.
Oh Divine Master, grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life."
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:13 PM | Comments (1)
July 28, 2008A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words
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101 Things I've Learned So Far
I like making lists. They help me distill things down to the essentials. So... here's one of the most important lists I could make -- something I could leave behind for my kids. It could be longer. It could be shorter. But I like the number "101," so here goes...
PS: Feel free to add your own learnings by clicking on "comments" below.
1. Everything I need is within me.
2. There is only NOW. The past is over. The future is a dream.
3. Love is the only game in town.
4. It's easy to forget. But it's also easy to remember.
5. Eventually we all have to let go (so why not let go now?)
6. Everything changes.
7. I am not the doer.
8. It feels good to give away stuff I don't really need.
9. I am never more than a breath away from fulfillment.
10. It's a huge help to have a teacher -- especially one I love.
11. Everything happens for the best.
12. Life is a gift.
13. I can't clean a muddy pond by poking at it with a stick.
14. Every time I point a finger, three are pointing back at me.
15. First effort, then grace.
16. It's a blessing to serve.
17. I am not here to teach anybody anything. I am here to love -- and the love will do the teaching.
18. There will never be peace on Earth until the people on Earth are at peace.
19. Worry is optional.
20. When I stop projecting my stuff on the universe, I begin to enjoy the real movie of life.
21. Marriage is a yoga.
22. Life is not supposed to be a struggle.
23. It's always helpful to be in the presence of a living Master.
24. Doubt is a killer. Give up doubt.
25. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like bananas. (Groucho Marx)
26. I am not taking anything with me that I don't already have.
27. It's impossible to understand the teachings of a Master with the mind. The mind can know about the truth, but it cannot experience the truth.
28. Life is not what you think.
29. Take more time to smell the roses (and plant some, too).
30. There is a feeling deep within my heart that is absolutely exquisite.
31. Wash your bowl.
32. There is a difference between desire and longing. Desire is wanting what I don't have. Longing is wanting what I do.
33. The world appears more beautiful the more beautiful I feel.
34. Time is an illusion.
35. Let go of letting go. Then let go of that, too.
36. There is nothing to be afraid of.
37. Drink more champagne.
38. Trust that which is trustworthy.
39. Stretch more.
40. Don't turn my point of view into a religion.
41. Be kinder.
42. Get enough rest.
43. Slow down. Less is more.
44. I am not a victim. No one has power over me.
45. I am responsible (and so are you).
46. Money is not the root of all evil. Ignorance of the truth is the root of all evil.
47. Most conversations are about the past, the future, or unfinished business.
48. Honor thy incarnation (Ram Dass)
49. When I'm not on the path, it's razor thin. When I'm on the path, it's a million miles wide.
50. One man's ceiling is another man's floor. (Paul Simon)
51. All Masters have said the same thing in different ways.
52. Everything I need is coming to me, and I already have everything I need.
53. Keep it simple.
54. We're all in this together.
55. When a pickpocket meets a saint, all he sees are pockets.
56. Ideas are sometimes more than ideas. They are inspirations from the beyond that need to be honored.
57. We all have a story to tell. Let's tell it already.
58. Learn from your mistakes.
59. Enjoy this "come as you are" party.
60. The goal is not perfection. The goal is to become fully awake.
61. Eat more sushi.
62. I can only take one breath at a time.
63. Life is a dance.
64. I am both the center of the universe and an extremely small particle of dust.
65. Drink more water.
66. The people I don't like often teach me more than my friends.
67. I am a nobleman. My father is the King.
68. Life is not so much about the what, but the how.
69. Be careful not to get addicted to my own story.
70. When you meet the Buddha on the road, ask him if he wants a foot massage.
71. Celebrate more.
72. Learn how to say no without being negative.
73. Each step is also an arrival.
74. There's nothing wrong with inconsistency. Yes there is.
75. Peace is possible on planet Earth.
76. Not everything that counts can be counted; and not everything that can be counted, counts. (Einstein)
77. Read all contracts carefully before signing them.
78. The mind is a chicken with its head cut off.
79. Breathe deep.
80. Ask for help.
81. Life is an open book. Write it.
82. Stop trying so hard.
83. Write a letter, by hand, once in a while.
84. It's not about what others think of me. It's what I think of myself. (PS: Who's doing the thinking?)
85. Confusion is just a word for an order that is not yet understood. (Henry Miller)
86. Be the same in a room full of people as I am when alone.
87. 60 is the new 59.
88. Every moment of life has the potential to be the best one yet.
89. Stop complaining.
90. Whatever I do, give it my best.
91. Listen more deeply.
92. Treasure my friends.
93. Be happy for others' successes.
94. Gratitude is the most authentic prayer.
95. God cannot be googled.
96. Practice Knowledge.
97. Pause.
98. I have no problems. The only problem I have is thinking I have problems.
99. Every cloud has a silver lining. Every silver lining has a golden lining.
100. Be a field big enough for others to dance in.
101. If I die today, I'll die a happy man.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:14 AM | Comments (3)
Draw a Breath, Not a Line
Throughout history, inner-directed people on the so-called "spiritual path", have had a tendency to perceive the world as "maya" -- the fancy sanskrit name for "illusion."
I used to feel this way a lot.
Back in the early days of my adolescent quest for meaning, I had a curious habit of drawing lines in the sand. On one side of the line was the "inner life" -- the place where God lived (or if not lived, at least vacationed). On the other side of the line was "the world." You know -- the laughable detritus of life on planet Earth: relationships, shopping malls, money, politics, ego, organized religion, high school geometry, taxes, Frosted Flakes, and anything I didn't understand, agree with, or like.
Somehow, it made me feel good to draw these lines -- not unlike the way Democrat and Republican spin doctors strut their stuff on CNN after each political debate.
Well... I would like to take this late night blogospheric moment to humbly apologize to all of those whose lives I somehow judged by my habitual line-drawing behavior.
I see things differently now -- kind of like that old Zen story...
Two young monks, one fine day, found themselves existentially arguing over whether it was the wind or the flag that was moving. Unable to agree, they sought the counsel of their teacher.
"Master, oh Master" they asked, "is it the wind or the flag that is moving?"
"Neither," the Master replied. "It's your mind that is moving."
And so, dear friend, if you find yourself judging anyone these days, including yourself, chill. It's a total waste of time to judge -- especially when you could be enjoying the very thing you were born for.
Draw a breath, not a line.
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July 27, 2008"God does not have a religion." (Mahatma Ghandi)
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VIDEO: We Are Human BeingsPosted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:25 AM | Comments (3)
Being Shown the River Where the Fish Are Swimming
It has been said that it is better to teach a man to fish than to give him a fish.
So true.
And yet, how much better would it be to show a man the river where the fish are swimming?
This has been my experience of what Maharaji does.
If you're thirsty, he takes you down to the river where the cool waters of life, filled with all those fabulous fish, are flowing.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:50 AM | Comments (0)
July 26, 2008The Reception
The year was 1986. Or maybe it was 1989. Or 1990. I really don't remember what year it was, but it doesn't matter in the least because my story has nothing to do with time.
Maharaji had just spoken to a few thousand people at a venue in Queens, NY. I was on my way out of the building when an old friend comes up to me and mentions there is going to be a small reception for Maharaji, immediately after the program, at the Carlyle Hotel in New York City.
In a heartbeat I'm out the door, zipping through traffic, and pulling up to the hotel entrance.
A smiling usher greets me in the lobby and points to the reception room on the second floor.
I bound the stairs three at a time and enter, fully expecting last minute preparations to be in full-frazzled swing. They're not. Maharaji is already there -- standing quietly in the middle of the room and talking to someone...
My first instinct is to rush across the room, go right up to him and say hello... or shake his hand... or thank him profusely... or offer an hors d'oeuvre... or ask if he needs help ... or volunteer for something... or remain inscrutably silent... or attempt to blend in like I'd been attending these kinds of gatherings with him for years.
At the same time, I want to respect his privacy and not hassle him in any way. (Ah.. the paradox of love!)
So I do what any good guest at an elegant reception in a fancy New York City hotel would do. I sidle up to the buffet.
By now, it's clear I don't know how to approach Maharaji, but I do know how to eat. And though I'm not all that hungry, eating, I reason, will give me something to do as I wait for my opening to get closer to him.
The crudite looks good, but too much like a picture from a magazine I wouldn't read in a dentist's office. And besides, carrots and celery are nowhere near my "celebration foods" -- the stuff I eat whenever I'm feeling really good.
Ah...look! Over there by the olives! Cashews! I love cashews! The perfect finger food! Nothing to drip on my shirt!
And so I grab a few and eat -- doing my best, at all times, to sense where Maharaji is in the room -- a curious kind of modern day yoga not yet featured in Time or Newsweek.
The cashews are good. Very good.
They are also, I discover, very salty. This is not good because my right hand -- the one I'd be using to shake Maharaji's should I ever get close enough -- was now completely greasy.
I pick up a napkin to wipe off the salt, but succeed only in further spreading the salt over both my hands. I think of going to the men's room to wash them off, but then I'd be leaving the room Maharaji is in and who knows how much longer he'd be there?
Trusting the moment, I quickly take my leave, wash both hands, and re-enter the room. Maharaji, I'm relieved to see, is still there, now talking to someone else.
And then... in a classic, pre-verbal, pure instinct, swallow-back-to-Capistrano mode, I find myself spontaneously migrating towards him, stopping only when I'm about an arm's length away.
He is talking about radio conversations he's had with Russian fighter pilots when piloting his plane.
I do my best to stand there without standing out.
He continues, making some kind of reference to the apocalypse, which triggers, for me, the following response:
"Maharaji, I've heard it said that the only thing that will remain after World War lll will be a McDonald's milkshake."
"No," he replies. "Cockroaches."
COMMENTARY:
There are many ways a person could interpret the preceding story.
One could easily conclude that what I experienced at the Hotel Carlyle reception with Maharaji was simply a function of my own mindset and mood that night -- the quirky way I see the world and the choices I make based on those perceptions.
Show three people a sharp knife and you'll get three different reactions. Someone's going to think of a stabbing... another, the number of carrots they can chop in three minutes... still a third, how much they could get for it on eBay.
"We don't see things as they are," said Anais Nin, "we see things as we are."
I'm guessing the other 75 guests at the reception told very different stories the next day -- none of which had anything to do with cashews, salt, or Russian fighter pilots.
"Motivation affects perception," explain the psychologists.
Still, I'd venture to say that everyone in the room that night, at the root of their own story, shared one thing in common.
And that was a feeling.
Not a thought, not a concept, not an opinion, projection, abstraction, comparison, analysis, or conclusion.
A feeling.
A feeling of love and freedom far beyond the specifics of what they experienced at the reception that night and how they told their stories the next day.
This feeling is why I was happy to be at the reception with Maharaji. And it's why I'd be happy to be in a desert with him. Or a bus station. Or a hallway. Or a field far away from here.
What Maharaji connects a person to is a place beyond the story of their life -- a place that cannot be found on a map.
A place that can only be found in the heart.
Intrigued? Click here or here or...hey...over here.
Not intrigued? Got other fish to fry? No problema. May you enjoy all the rest of your days no matter what you do. May you count your blessings. Then lose count. May you have the grace and the courage to let go of whatever is in your way -- and if you can't let it go, then at least kick it aside. If there's not enough love in your life, take a breath and look within. That's where you'll find it.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:54 AM | Comments (0)
July 25, 2008Give Peace a Chance
Click below for Hoffmananda's (aka Stuart Hoffman's) gorgeous new rendition of Give Peace a Chance -- a totally inspiring slide show with soundtrack that communicates A LOT in just seven minutes. Enjoy! And pass it on...
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:03 AM | Comments (2)
July 23, 2008The Ten Commandments for Visiting a New Age Ashram
During the past two decades, a curious phenomenon has swept this nation. Inspired by the teachings of several Master souls from the East, an unusually large number of ashrams and retreats have made their appearance on the scene -- spiritual centers designed to provide seekers of the truth with a focused environment in which to practice their particular spiritual path.
While most people who spend time in these places are extremely dedicated and sincere, there still remains a goodly number who, in their attempt to have "an experience," miss the point completely.
Seduced by the Western notion of cause and effect, they somehow think that spiritual attainment is related to the way they act -- as if God were some kind of transcultural Santa Claus looking for good little boys and girls to bring his shiny red fire trucks to.
Not surprisingly, the spirit of the law is all too often traded for the letter -- a letter that, no matter how many stamps are put on it, is continually returned for insufficient postage. Surrender is replaced by submission; patience by hesitation; and humility by timidity.
Alas, in the name of finding themselves, our God-seeking brothers and sisters have tended to lose the very thing that makes them truly human -- their individuality.
And so, with great respect to your personal God, your Guru, your Guru's Guru, and your favorite tax-deductible charity, I humbly offer you the following soul-saving tips should you decide to visit (or move into) the ashram or spiritual center of your choice. Take what you can, leave the rest, and remember -- it's not whether your shoes are on or off, but if your heart is open.
1. Do Not Change the Way You Walk
Most visitors to a spiritual retreat think they have to change the way they walk if they are truly going to have a meaningful experience. Somehow, they believe there is a direct correlation between the way they move their feet and the amount of "grace" or "blessings" about to enter their lives. The "spiritual walk," is actually a not-too-distant cousin of the "museum walk," the curious way a person slows down and shuffles knowingly, yet humbly, past a Monet (or is it a Manet?), silently getting the essence of the Masterpiece even as they move noddingly towards that incomprehensible cubist piece in the next room.
If you like, think of the spiritual walk as the complete opposite of the on-the-way-to-work-walk or the exiting-a-disco-in-New York walk. Simply put, the spiritual walk is a way of moving that practitioners believe will attract small deer from nearby forests -- deer that will literally walk right up to them and eat from their hand -- more proof to anyone in the general vicinity that they are, in fact, enlightened souls, humble devotees, children of God, or the so-far-unacknowledged successors to their guru's lineage.
Ideally, the spiritual walk should be taken in sandals, though Reeboks or Chinese slippers will do in a pinch. Cowboy boots are definitely out, as are galoshes, high heels, and Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars.
2. Do Not, Under Any Circumstances, Succumb to the Spiritual Nod
Closely related to the spiritual walk, the spiritual nod is routinely practiced in retreats the world over. And while no one completely comprehends it's divine origins, many believe it began when a blissful brother simply forgot the name of his roommate on his way to the bathroom. Instead of issuing the familiar Sanskrit phrase of the week, our trend-setting friend simply tightened his lips, looked at the ground and... well... nodded. Now, every time you walk by someone at the ashram, you are half-expected to flash them the nod, the non-verbal equivalent of "Hi! I know you know, and you know I know, and you know that I know that you know, and in my knowing, I know that I know you know, and by so knowing, need not speak, since words are finite and cannot express the knowingness which the two of us (being one) share from such a knowful place. Know what I mean?"
3. Do Not Judge Anyone, Including Yourself
This is the hardest of all commandments to obey. Why? Because spiritual environments not only bring out the best in people, they also bring out the worst. And while the worst is often more difficult to detect than the bliss of people wanting you to notice how blissful they are, the higher you get, the easier it is to notice -- that is, if you are looking for it.
Of course, it would be very easy to spend your entire spiritualized retreat noticing all the subtle ego trips going on around you. Resist this temptation with all your might! Do not, I repeat, do not, focus on the stuff that would make good material for this article. You have no right. In fact, you have absolutely no idea why anyone is there, what their motivation is, or how they will learn the kinds of lessons you are absolutely sure they need to learn.
In reality, you are most likely seeing your own projections -- those disowned parts of your self that you've refused to acknowledge all these years: your spiritual groupie, your brownie point collector, your junkie for more experience, your suburban yogi , your guilty seeker of God, your con man, your eunuch, your resolution maker, your ass watcher, your closet fanatic, your glutton for humble pie, your too poetic definer of ecstasy, your flaming bullshit artist, your know-it-all, your have-it-all, your spring-headed bower towards anyone with more than two devotees.
All of them are you! Every single one of them! Don't judge them. Love them! Bring them tea! Rub their feet every chance you get!
4. Do Not Think That This Is the Only Place Where It Is Happening
Spiritual retreatants have a marked propensity to think that the grounds they inhabit are somehow more blessed than any place else on earth -- that they are privy to a special command performance by God, revealing himself in thousands of exotic ways for those lucky enough to be there, while thousands, nay millions, of George Bush-like souls are stumbling around in uncool places recently vacated by the Power of Life so a very cosmic thing can happen here and only here this weekend.
Life, in fact, is often perceived as so good in the "Center," that the rest of the world becomes eerily cast as the "booby prize." Indeed, to new age seekers, everything else is simply referred to as "the world," much like Manhattanites speak of New Jersey. In short, the new age retreat comes to represent all that is good -- about God, about the Guru, about life itself.
Somehow ("and I don't know how, but you could ask anyone who was there this weekend") flowers seem sweeter there, the moon seems fuller, the air seems cleaner. Even the bread tastes better. If you glimpse a shooting star at night, it's the "guru's grace." If you see a double rainbow, it's directly over the meditation hall.
I guess it's all in how you look at it. The same shooting star convincing you that your guru is, in fact, the Supreme Guru, was also seen by a plumber named Leroy who just happened to be drinking a beer in between innings of the Mets game. His conclusion? The Mets were gonna win 20 of the next 25 and bring the pennant home to Flushing!
What do the signs in the sky (or what we perceive as signs) really mean? Isn't the whole world our ashram? Isn't the real issue one of appreciating what is happening all around us? The flowers? The stars? The beggars asking for spare change? Flowers aren't any sweeter on retreat. It's our willingness to breathe deeply and enjoy them that's different. What's stopping us from being in this place right now? What's stopping us from realizing that the very ground beneath our feet is the promised land -- wherever we happen to be at the time.
5. Don't Put a Red Dot on Your Forehead If You Don't Want To
Unless you've been living in a trailer park your whole life, you probably already know what the red dot thing is all about. That's right. The third eye. The sixth chakra. High holiness. INDIA!! While sometimes mistaken for a beauty mark or a random bit of watermelon, the little red dot is actually a useful reminder to focus one's attention on the space between the eyebrows, which, for some people, is where God lives (or if not lives, at least vacations). Nothing wrong with that, now is there?
Still, you have to concede that the third eye isn't the only spot on the human body that's sacred. What about the earlobes? The belly button? The nipples? They come from God, too -- not too mention chakras #1 - 5 and the highly under-represented center of consciousness at the crown of the head. Sacred, every one of them!
Don't you think that, if the body is the temple of the soul, it follows that our entire physical structure is sacred? Shouldn't we be covered from head to toe with little red dots? And if so, why is it that we routinely quarantine people with measles -- the very people who have selflessly chosen to manifest disease just to remind us to honor our body's ultimate holiness?
6. Play With the Children
The only sentient beings free from the collective mentality of spiritual seekers are the children. Children visiting "holy places," in fact, behave the same way the world over no matter what adjectives their elders use for the unspeakable name of God. When they're hungry, they eat. When they're tired, they sleep. They cry when they want to, laugh for no reason, consume ice cream without guilt, and rarely wonder why your picture of the Master is bigger, newer, or better framed.
7. Fart At Your Own Risk
If you fart, and there's no one around to hear it at the ashram, did it happen? And if it did happen, does that mean you've been disrespectful? Is the resident Guru able to hear you? And if he or she is meditating, out of the country, or dead, is their guru or their guru's guru able to hear you? And if so, so what? Will you be reborn as a gerbil? Does the Guru fart? And if it's OK for him or her to pass wind, why not you?
OK, so it's their place and you're a guest. But after all, aren't we all guests here? Even the Guru? Who do they answer to? And if it's not the same one you're answering to, what the hell are you doing getting up at five in the morning and sitting in the lotus position?
Maybe the real question isn't whether or not it's permissible to fart on holy ground, but how you fart. For instance, if you're farting out of a blatant disregard for the Master's teachings or the sincerity of his or her followers, you might want to reconsider where you're coming from. However, if your farting is just a random release of gas, relax! Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You see, a typical visit to a spiritual center quickens one's ability to "let go" -- so what you call "farting" may, in fact, be a timely sign of your evolving spiritual condition.
8. Do Not Think You Are Higher or Lower Than Anyone Else
One of the favorite pastimes of people visiting a spiritual retreat is comparing themselves to everyone else. "See the guy over there carrying firewood? He's a very old soul -- way older than me. Been on the path for years. And that dude laughing hysterically in the corner? That's Shiva. Oops, he can probably see through me, maybe I better walk around the other way."
Want to save yourself some time? Don't try to figure out how "on the path" anybody else is. It's impossible. Stare into the eyes all you want, watch for tell-tale signs of liberation, but when it comes right down to it, the only conclusion you'll reach will be your own -- one that may have absolutely nothing to do with the anything but your own projections.
Face it, how accurate is your assessment going to be when 99 percent of humanity couldn't tell that the carpenter from Galilee had something special going for him? Indeed, it's not at all unlikely that the beer-bellied, first-time visitor you met this morning at the ashram is, at this very moment, being treated like a spiritual mongoloid by everyone who meets him (repeatedly being asked if "this is your first time") when, in fact, the beer-bellied, first-time visitor is actually the reincarnation of Buddha.
9. Do Not Think That You Are Going to Get Something
Many people visit a a spiritual retreat because they want to get something. They want "clarity" or "contentment," "enlightenment" or "grace," "blessings" or "peace of mind." At the very least, they want their business to improve or their marriage to be saved. Alas, they miss the point completely: If you try to get, you will lose, left only with the sinking feeling of having just bought $300 worth of lottery tickets only to learn that some electrician from Staten Island just won the whole thing.
Look, it's really very simple. You don't go to a spiritual center (or a Big Time Teacher, for that matter) to get. You go to give, to let go -- to relax your grip on the very thing that's been separating you from getting all these years: Your grasping. Your fear. Your well-rehearsed strategy to realize God.
10. Do Not Feel Compelled to Change Your Name
OK, so your name is Joey. Ever since you were knee high to a can of Cheese Whiz, everyone called you Joey -- as in, "Hey, Joey, what's goin' down, bro'?" Yeah, you grew up in Brooklyn, cut school once a week, and dated a chick named Angela with very big boobs. Great. So, here you are at the ashram and ba-bing, you run smack into a bunch of dudes with names like Arjuna, Govinda, Namdev,Shanti, Krishna. "Hey," you think to yourself, "maybe they got something I don't."
Guess what? They do. They have spiritual names given to them by their Guru -- names that make their mothers somewhat close-lipped around the canasta table. And while these names are clearly given with a purpose, the fact of the matter is -- they are irrelevant. Do you think the people in India who have spiritual experiences get their names changed to Eddie, Gino, Stacey, or Shirley ?
Hey, what difference does it make? You are not your name -- even if your namesake was enlightened. It doesn't matter what they call you, when it's time to go, you're gone. The only name worth knowing at that time is God's name -- and that, my friend, no matter how many mantras you've memorized, can never be pronounced.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:32 AM | Comments (4)
July 22, 2008Harvest Me
Stories of your beauty
drift down to me like ash
from a fire
I have not yet been warmed by.
Your absence only singes me,
and though I flame
at the mere mention of you,
still I remain unconsumed.
Don't you understand?
Just the wind of your walking
would be enough to release me,
your glance,
enough to wake me from my dream.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:54 AM | Comments (0)
July 18, 2008The Falcon and the Falconer
NOTE: This song of praise to Maharaji is best read aloud...
I am the falcon, you are the falconer. Always I am coming back to you, my soaring skyward just a strategy to gather speed for my ultimate return.
How you have trained me is a mystery -- the way you've tamed my restless heart. It is not with fear. I do not fear you. It is not with food. There is prey enough for me everywhere I fly. It is more the way you offer me your arm, a place to land, a second skin scented with the wild musk of one who waits for me, what I would be if I would be a man.
It is a wonderful game the two of us play -- this coming and going, this circular ballet. Each time you loose the loops around my legs and signal me to fly, I remember what it is to rise for the first time. It is here I find my rest, my home. Untethered, still I do not move, needing only to be close to you, my falconer.
It is this that beats my wings, releases me to sky, rides the unseen currents of the air, and though I notice other things: the tops of trees, a cloud, a nimble rabbit on the ground, all I see is you, holding out your arm to me, even as a thousand other falcons overhead, each within your view, circle closer, spiral down, descend.
Still I know that I am next and this is the perfect moment of my return.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:26 PM | Comments (1)
VIDEO: Find Peace WithinHere's a one-minute intro to Prem Rawat (aka Maharaji) and the Knowledge he reveals as shown on Brazilian TV.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:22 AM | Comments (0)
July 16, 2008I Used to Write Love Poems
I used to write love poems,
now I collect them
like small shells on a beach
only the locals know about.
There is nothing inside them.
They are empty.
But when you put your ear to their opening
and really listen,
you can hear the ocean.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:47 PM | Comments (0)
VIDEO: Go WithinWe are here for such a short while -- even if we live to 100. So while we're here, what's the purpose? What is there to experience? Where does real happiness come from? What is life really all about? In this 5 minute video, Prem Rawat (aka Maharaji) gives us all a clue.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:13 AM | Comments (2)
July 14, 2008The First Annual Last Words Contest
"I wish I had drunk more champagne."
With these last words, John Maynard Keynes, the famous British economist, passed into the Great Beyond. Way to go Johnny!
Conrad Hilton, grandfather of Paris and founder of one of the world's most acclaimed hotel empires, left us with a slightly different message. "Leave the shower curtain on the inside of the tub."
Thank you, Conrad. I will do my best to remember that.
What about you? What do you imagine your last words will be? Or better yet, what would you like them to be? Oh sure, you may have another 80 years to go, but it's never too soon to get your legacy in gear.
Got it? Good! Now share it with the rest of us. When 7 or more submissions are submitted by Heart of the Matter readers, I'll post them here for everyone to read.
And soon thereafter, our esteemed panel of imperfect judges will bestow one lucky (and eventually dead) reader of this blog with the FIRST ANNUAL LAST WORDS prize (a copy of the book from whence these quotes were quoted). Should be interesting.
If you need some inspiration to get you going, click below to see what Mata Hari, P.T. Barnum, Oscar Wilde and a host of others had to say just before they left their mortal coil...
"I am in a duel to the death with this wallpaper. One of us has to go." - Oscar Wilde
"Why not? After all, it belongs to Him." - Charlie Chaplin
"How were the circus receipts in Madison Square Garden?" - P.T. Barnum
"Death is nothing, nor life either, for that matter. To die, to sleep, to pass into nothingness, what does it matter? Everything is an illusion." - Mata Hari
"I've had a hellava lot of fun and have enjoyed every minute of it." - Erroll Flynn
"That was the best ice cream soda I ever tasted." - Lou Costello
"Die, I should say not, dear fellow. No Barrymore would allow such a conventional thing to happen to him." - John Barrymore
"Don't pull down the blinds. I feel fine. I want the sunlight to greet me." - Rudolf Valentino
"More light!" - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"That was a great game of golf, fellers." - Bing Crosby
"God, don't let me die. I have so much to do." - Huey Long
"I shall hear in heaven!" - Ludwig Van Beethoven
"I have just had 18 whiskeys in a row. I do believe that is a record." - Dylan Thomas
"Go on. Get out! Last words are for fools that haven't said enough!" - Karl Marx
"Wait a second." - Madame de Pompadour
"Don't let it end this way. Tell them I said something." - Pancho Villa
OK. Your turn...
Excepted from Famous Last Words by Ray Robinson (Workman Publishing, 2003)
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:03 AM | Comments (3)
July 11, 2008WAITING DOWN UNDER: A Timeless Moment in Amaroo
When asked to explain his highly abstract Theory of Relativity, Albert Einstein made it comprehensible in just two sentences. "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute," he said, "and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute."
I can relate.
There are entire years of my life I can barely remember, but singular moments that seem eternal. The birth of my first child was one of them. So was the birth of my second... as was the first time I saw the woman who would later become my wife... and the time I almost drowned.
"Peak experiences," they're called, moments when time seems to stop and we connect with something timeless -- moments when thinking gives way to feeling and we realize, without words, what life is all about.
And though the catalysts for these moments are different for each of us, the experience is universal.
Something takes us over. Something opens up. A Red Sea parts and we feel totally alive, far beyond the usual ways we measure the world, our worth, and life itself.
I've had my share of these moments and am grateful for each of them. But the most memorable ones have been in the company of my teacher, Maharaji.
Being around him brings out the best in me.
I laugh the loudest, feel the deepest, and experience the kind of spaciousness within that contains everything. Home sweet home. Free Parking in Monopoly. The peace that passes all understanding.
Maharaji, for me, is an amplifier of all things good, a human tuning fork vibrating at the frequency I most love to frequent -- the frequency of love.
Which brings me back to the reason why I began this article in the first place.
Last September, I attended a five-day event with Maharaji, in Australia, along with 3,500 other people from more than 30 countries.
It took me 27 hours to get there, but it seemed like a minute.
Life was simple in Amaroo. I lived in a tent. I went to bed when the sun went down. I woke with the birds. I had no cell phone, no laptop, no worries, and nothing to do but listen to Maharaji -- twice a day -- hold forth beneath the vast Australian sky.
I was a happy camper.
On the fifth day of the event, I began to feel an old melancholy creeping in -- the kind I used to feel as a kid on Sunday afternoons when I knew the weekend was coming to an end.
Ah... the paradox!
On one hand, I was immersed in an experience that left me wanting nothing. On the other hand, the more this awareness grew, the harder it was for me think about leaving.
And so when I bumped into Michelle, an old friend of mine now working at Daya's Fine Dining, the on-site restaurant Maharaji was known to frequent, I asked if there was any way I could get in tonight -- my chance, I thought, to see him one more time before I flew home.
"All the reservations are taken," she replied. "But we still need waiters. If you meet me after the event, I'll introduce you to the woman in charge of personnel."
Fast forward a few hours.
The next thing I know a very focused woman is introducing me to Carl, the Head Waiter -- a well-dressed gent oozing confidence, purpose, and five-star restaurantiness.
Quickly, he explains my role, the difference between salad plates and dessert plates, when to bring the bread, when to pour the water, when to open the wine, when to take an order, how to take an order, where to find the spoons, how to fold the napkins, when to present the check, where to get the checks, what the consecutive numbers of my tables were, and a thousand other things that went over my head like an empty thought bubble in a Homer Simpson comic I had no time to read.
I wanted to take notes, but couldn't find a pen. I wanted to ask questions, but there wasn't any time. I wanted to confess my ignorance, but no one was available to play the priest.
I still didn't know where the kitchen was.
And then, before you could say "What are the specials tonight?" the doors open wide and the guests come flooding in.
I go to my section. I meet. I greet. I pour. I nod. I try to remember how the pork is prepared.
So there I am, walking across the room, carrying a chilled bottle of an Italian mineral water I couldn't pronounce if my life depended on it, when the entire restaurant becomes totally still.
Not the sound of a fork. Not the clink of a glass. Just pin drop silence and everyone looking in the same direction.
This, I knew, could mean only one thing.
There, at the threshold of the room, stood Maharaji, radiant, buoyant, completely present. He is looking in what I think of as "my direction," (though I'm convinced he's looking at someone else over my shoulder.)
"Hey Mitch!" he calls out. "So it's come to this? You've been demoted to a waiter!"
Everyone laughs. It's funny. But more than that, it has opened the floodgates. He's broken the ice and opened my heart with only 13 words.
It's clear that Maharaji is talking to me, not that mythical dude over my mythical shoulder. It's also clear that, standing halfway across the room, I'm much too far away to be having a meaningful conversation with him.
I should be closer. Much closer.
And then... I have one of those moments Einstein must have been referring to, years ago, when explaining the Theory of Relativity to people like me.
Time twisted. A second became a lifetime. A lifetime became a second.
Next thing I know I'm standing next to Maharaji.
I have no clue how I got there. Technically speaking, I walked, but not really. I didn't move an inch as far as I could tell. I was moved -- as if the entire restaurant had just been tilted in his direction... and I simply slid towards him.
Effortlessly.
Now next to him, before any other conversations in the room had a chance to begin, we continue the thread of what started as his humorous ice-breaker. I look at him and smile. He looks at me and says something about ADI, the new magazine he likes so much. I respond with news of my recent meetings with Ole, the editor. He says something else. So do I. Small talk, you could say, but for me it wasn't small at all.
It was huge.
Now everyone in the room is getting into the act. The guy at Table 12 (Trout Almondine and the broccoli soup) asks Maharaji about a new software program. The couple sipping champagne at Table 9 talks about music. Someone asks about this. Someone asks about that. And he is totally gracious and present with everyone -- as if each person speaking was the only one in the room.
Me? I'm just standing there next to him, soaking it all up.
And then, just before he continues on his way, he turns and, out of the blue, says something kind about my writing.
Then he pivots and is gone, schmoozing forward into the next room where more people who love him are waiting patiently. I follow behind, a self-appointed member of his entourage, but I know my moment with him is over. I have people to wait on, wine to pour.
And so I return to my station.
Everyone seems a bit different now than when they first came in. Lighter. More expansive. And no one is asking about food.
Of course, that moment passes, too. Soon someone is asking for more butter. Someone else complains about the bread.
The odd thing?
If you look at this story from the outside, it doesn't seem all that extraordinary. OK, so I fly to Australia, live in a tent, don't use my cell phone, and listen to Maharaji for five days. Then I dress up like a waiter, walk across the room, and have a seemingly mundane conversation with him.
"That's it?" one could easily conclude.
Ahhh... This is precisely where the great mystery kicks in, my friends -- the mystery of the off-the-grid relationship between Master and devotee.
It's never about the what. It's all about the who and how.
When you're in love it doesn't matter what's happening. Everything you do, everything you say, everything you don't do or don't say is infused with a feeling.
And that feeling is what it's all about.
My moving across the floor at Daya's Fine Dining took just a few seconds. My conversation with Maharaji took just a few minutes. But the feeling of it all will last a lifetime.
This is what Knowledge is all about. This is what we were born to experience: the timelessness of love. And it is available to each and every one of us every single second of our blessed lives.
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PS: This posting is actually one of two articles on this blog about being a waiter for Maharaji. To read the other one, click here. If either of these move you in the slightest way, please consider forwarding them to a friend or (ahem) a...relative.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:14 PM | Comments (1)
July 10, 2008SLIDE SHOW: Maharaji in Sicily
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:22 PM | Comments (1)
July 09, 2008Amaroo Slide Show
Many thanks to Chris Tardieu for forwarding this sweet slide show and song from Amaroo. Amazingly, Chris sent this to me just minutes after I posted the previous piece. Serendipity alert! We are all connected!
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:03 AM | Comments (0)
July 08, 2008Looking for the Real
See that guy to your left?
Looks a little intense, eh? Must be on some kind of spiritual trip. Or maybe he's just protein deficient. I'm guessing he's into Eastern things. Probably reads the Bhagavad-Gita and doesn't make enough to pay taxes. Maybe he lives in a tent. Fruitarian? Macrobiotic? I really don't know for sure.
Wait a minute! That's me! 36 years ago. (Now you know why my parents were so freaked out when I was in my 20's.)
After all, I was their golden boy, the carrier of the family name, the hope for the future. According to everyone, I was supposed to be a doctor, a lawyer, a dentist. Maybe even a rabbi.
I coulda been a contender.
What happened? Why the long hair, the sallow cheeks, the penetrating I-can-outstare-anyone look?
Growing up in the suburbs of New York, you'd never think I would have gone off what some people referred to as the "deep end."
After all, I had it good. I had my own room, my own TV, a good looking girlfriend, a dog, excellent grades, played varsity basketball, and went to summer camp. And though my father, unlike Buddha's, was not the King, he had enough money to send me to a fine college -- where I majored in English and existential despair.
No matter. Still, I graduated with honors and went on to graduate school. Not in medicine, law, teeth, or the Talmud -- but poetry.
So there I was, in some fancy-schmancy Ivy League grad school -- hair and shadow growing longer by the day, when I get this invitation to an ultra hip, faculty-student party -- the kind where everyone is either drunk or stoned. Or both.
Feeling especially bold that night, I approached each of my professors and asked a simple question: "If you could be anywhere on Earth, at this precise moment, where would it be?"
Each of them, glad for the audience, began waxing poetic on their favorite place -- the nearest of which was 2,000 miles away.
Doh! No one wanted to be where they were! Everyone wanted to be somewhere else!
And me, the wise-ass, longhair, full of poetic-potential, Vietnam-phobic, draft-deferred 22-year old enduring Beowulf, Wallace Stevens, and iambic pentameter homework assignments was aspiring to be one of them?
I saw the future and it wasn't pretty.
I'd be 45, bearded, smoking a pipe, sitting in this same room being asked by my much younger alter ego where I wanted to be at that moment in time and it was going to be some place very far away.
Ouch!
Enough said. I decided to quit.
Thus began a series of adventures and accompanying odd jobs "beneath my station" that left my mother somewhat speechless around the canasta table -- dish washer, waiter, cook, hotel desk clerk, house painter, day care teacher, and food stamp collector.
Thirsty for less, I moved to an island in the ocean -- a pristine place where I could really get away from it all.
And so I did.
I grew vegetables. I grew a beard. I grew further disillusioned with "the world." I fasted. I chanted. I prayed. I read the Gita, the Tao Te Ching, the Upanishads, the Dhammapada, the Aquarian Gospel, the Zen Teachings of Huang Po, the Old Testament, the collected writings of Chuang Tzu, Meher Baba's discourses, the Life of Milarepa, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and anything else that addressed what life was all about.
I was living in paradise, but I wasn't happy. Not even close. To the casual observer, I had it all -- the house in the country, the girlfriend, the dog, the friends, the fresh baked bread, the mellow job on a 200 acre farm, but it wasn't enough.
I plastered my house with pictures of all the enlightened beings I could find -- Buddha, Jesus, Krishna, Shiva, and Meher Baba. I prayed to them all.
And then I got the letter -- the letter from my best friend, Ed.
Ed was the real deal -- a practicing Zen Buddhist, a calligrapher -- a kind of spiritual big brother to me. Five years older (and maybe several lifetimes, too), Ed was deep, soulful, authentic, and cool.
He was also a minimalist. Preferred one flower in a vase, to many. Was a man of few words. Had a huge BS detector and always had a twinkle in his eye. A full tilt individual, he was not the easily influenced kind. Nor was he a joiner of anything that smacked of group think.
I trusted him.
Which is why I was so intrigued to get a letter from him one fine Summer day. Ed, the man of few words, had a lot to say in this missive. Apparently, since the last time I'd seen him, he'd "received Knowledge" from a 13 year old "boy Guru" from India -- someone named Maharaji.
Hmmm...
The first thing I did, after reading the letter, was stuff it in a drawer. Something in me knew the jig was up -- that all my seeking was about to come to an end. But I didn't want to give it up. I liked seeking. Seeking was cool. Seeking was exciting. Seeking was spiritual... familiar.. and a proven way to pick up chicks. Seeking gave me an identity -- the seeker.
Finding, on the other hand, was... well... confronting.
Flash back to high school: Seeking is to dating as finding is to... um... er... uh... marriage!
MARRIAGE! Help! Who, in their right mind, wanted to get married? Certainly, not me. Marriage was so... so... final... so entrapping... so end of the line.
And so I procrastinated as best I could.
I knew, in my gut, that Ed's letter was a direct response to a deep prayer within me, but the immediacy of it all made me anxious -- like when a really good teacher called me to the front of the room and asked questions I didn't know the answers to.
But Ed was relentless. He was not about to concede to my procrastination. Two weeks later he called me, inviting me to visit for the weekend.
I went.
The first thing I noticed in Ed's apartment was a framed picture of Maharaji. I found it odd -- especially since my image of "The Guru" was very different than the one in Ed's frame. Where were the sallow cheeks? Where was the long white hair? The robes? The ancient look in the deep-set eyes as if to say: "Come my son, I know you have waited lifetimes for me to incarnate, and here I am -- crossing the universe to come for one of my favorite (and most humble) disciples of all time."
In reality, the picture of Maharaji in Ed's apartment looked more like a second string fullback for a little known high school in New Jersey. "That's the Guru?" I thought to myself. "That's the guy who's created such a stir?"
It made no sense.
Ed, God bless him, didn't care in the least. He just kept on talking and laughing and smiling. When we went for a walk, I couldn't keep up with him. He was a ball of fire -- radiant, glowing, buoyant, alive. Gone was the Zen minimalist shtick. Gone was the dude who mindfully chewed his rice 100 times before swallowing. In its place? Radiant, child-like wonder. Fun. Mojo. Elan. And something neither of us had talked about in any of our esoteric conversations -- happiness.
When I returned to my home on the island, I had a lot to think about.
Could it be? Could this young boy from India be the ONE (at least for me, that is)? Could all of my chanting and praying and fasting and yoga and reading and attempts to meditate have invoked this moment in time? Was Maharaji's appearance on the scene in direct response to my inner calling?
I didn't have to wait long for the answer.
Two weeks later Ed called to tell me that one of Maharaji's emissaries was going to be in Boston and that, if I wanted to receive Knowledge, I should come. The cost? Nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Ed explained there was no charge because what I was about to receive I already had.
Sounded good to me.
I went. I asked. I received.
It was, looking back, the most extraordinary experience of my life. Like coming home. Like waking up. Like discovering I was made of pure love. Everything became so simple, so perfect, so full of essence, energy, and peace.
I could have pulled Redwood trees from the ground.
These, of course, are only words. If you ask a hundred different people who have received Knowledge (and practiced it), you'll probably hear a hundred different descriptions. But all of them will be spoken with the kind of feeling that will catch your attention.
What I'm trying to stay is this:
What you are looking for is within you.
Your thirst to experience this will guide you on your way.
What you will get guided to will be a direct response to your thirst.
You will need to trust your thirst and that which it guides you to (even if I'm not supposed to end this sentence with a preposition.)
For me, this thirst led me to Maharaji and his gift of Knowledge. His invitation is the same now as it was 37 years ago. He's still here. And so are you.
Now that you know, what do you want to do? It's your move.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:01 AM | Comments (5)
July 07, 2008The Great Mystery
Here is the great mystery:
My thirst is quenched
as much by my longing
to have it quenched
as it is by the waters that come.
Tell me, oh digger of the well,
which do I drink first?
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:07 PM | Comments (0)
July 06, 2008So Far Beyond the Blues
OK. Here's the scene. It's December 3rd, five days before Maharaji's 50th birthday event in San Diego, when the phone rings in my kitchen. Its Kate, one of the program coordinators, wondering if I'm available to be the "back up MC."
"Back up, MC?" I ask. Kate laughs and deftly explains that Maharaji has already selected the MC for the event, but they always like to have a back up, "just in case."
"In case of what?" I'm thinking. "A heart attack?"
Two thoughts race through my mind. One is the wow-amazed-humbled-honored-what-a-beautiful-opportunity thought that spontaneously arises from deep within the heart of someone who loves Maharaji and wants to be of service in any way possible.
The other?
"Oops! Someone must have made a terrible mistake. I'm not exactly who you think I am. I'm in way over my head and will surely screw up Maharaji's event for thousands of people, proving, once and for all, that I am a complete idiot impostor.
I think you get the picture.
So there I am on the phone, metaphorically breaking out in hives and maintaining the last remnants of my rapidly disappearing persona, when Kate -- picking up on my obvious mini-meltdown -- goes on to tell me that there is very little chance that I will actually be needed as the back up.
"Hey, this could be the best of both worlds," I'm suddenly thinking to myself. "I'll get a great seat, feel extra good about myself for being chosen, and maybe even get to see Maharaji at the dress rehearsal.
"Sure," I say to Kate. "Count me in."
Kate thanks me and proceeds to tell me what Maharaj said he wanted from the MC at the event. It all makes sense.
I hang up and start floating around my house like some kind of astral bodied Marx Brother. I'm pumped. I'm psyched. I'm pooping in my pants.
The next day I get to thinking about what Kate said Maharaji wanted from the MC and suddenly, I get an inspiration.
"Hey!" I think to what's left of myself, "I could write a funny blues song, poking fun at premies! I can send it to Kate and she can give it to the real MC -- and he can decide if there are any good lines in it to include his opening remarks.
Service!
Cool! Whew! The pressure's off! I like creating new things -- especially blues songs I won't have to perform. The best of all worlds!
It's a work day for me and I only have 30 minutes to spare, so I write some lyrics on the fly. Done! I email them to Kate -- and just as quickly forget about them, getting back to the business of working.
A day goes by. Then the phone rings again. It's Kate.
"So...," she says, without much need for a segue to the second part of her sentence. "You're going to be performing your blues song at the San Diego event."
I heard what she said, but didn't quite understand it. Performing? Blues song? San Diego? Me? She says it again just for good measure and goes on to explain that, after reading the lyrics and laughing loudly, she showed them to someone on his way to Maharaji's residence who also found them funny, so she gave him a copy and he showed them to Maharaji who read them immediately, laughed, and said something like "Good! Let's have Mitch perform this song at the event."
I am stunned. Dazzled. Baffled. Befuddled. The weird thing? In times gone by, I've spent years working on a piece of writing for Maharaji and never heard boo in response. Now, after 30 minutes of parody blues writing, I'm getting an invitation to perform for him and 5,000 people at his birthday event. Huh?
"But Kate... I'm NOT a musician. I'm NOT a singer. I don't have a blues band."
Kate talks me down from the ledge -- explaining that I didn't really need to sing the song, I could talk it -- like the talking blues -- and I didn't need a band -- a blues guitarist was being located to accompany me.
In over my head, I am praying my heart will show up soon.
Kate assures me that everything is going to be fine and that, hey, my blues performance won't happen until the party which is going to be on the afternoon of the second day when everyone is going to be so blissed out that I could read the San Diego phone book and people would probably applaud.
The next two days go by very quickly. I seem to be working. I seem to be a husband. I seem to be a father. I seem to be packing. But I'm actually imagining myself performing a blues song in front of Maharaji and 5,000 people from all around the world. "Be here now?" Not exactly. It's more like "Be there then."
So there I am in my San Diego hotel room, the day before the day before the event, munching on chocolate covered almonds from the overpriced mini-bar, when the phone rings. It's Kate again, mumbling a few pleasantries before cutting to the chase.
"So... it looks like you're going to be the MC," she explains. "The MC couldn't make it. Something came up. Oh," she adds, "Maharaji wants you to start the event with the blues song!"
"Medic! Mommy! Man overboard!"
I didn't sleep too well that night -- sort of like a baby tuna flopping around the deck of a very expensive yacht.
The next day was rehearsal time in Kate's room. Picture it. Me, the non-black, non-musician, pinch hitting, balding Jewish guy getting in the groove with the recently drafted classical guitarist -- Manuel Iman.
Now, I don't know about you, but there's a moment in everyone's life when you are not only uptight, but everyone knows you are uptight and they don't want you to be uptight (because they love you or are depending on you to be cool for a particular purpose) and they approach you and start massaging your shoulders so you will be less uptight, but the very act of them approaching and massaging you is such a dead giveaway that you are hopelessly uptight that even if their massage was perfect, the fact that they've identified you as someone who needs a massage makes you even more uptight in a way that no massage could ever be enough to relax you.
That's the condition I was in, sad to say, during the first part of our rehearsal.
And so it goes...
"I woke up this morning,
I got off the plane,
I went to the airport,
My suitcase went to Spain."
OK. Fast forward. It's half an hour before the program is supposed to start. I'm looking snappier than usual in my dark blue Hugo Boss suit, suitably sitting in the front row, patiently waiting for my cue, when the Hanuman-like Scott Cronin brings the newly blues-riffing Manuel and I a rather large tuna on rye.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
Yes, we are, not having eaten since 8:00 am, but since it's obviously not elegant to be eating a tuna sandwich in the front row just minutes before the program, Manuel suggests we slip behind the curtain and have our pre-program repast backstage. Voila! We open the curtain to find a place to munch and there, just 15 feet away, is Maharaji, casually talking to a few smiling premies.
Manuel and I become very still. Time stops. Space stops. My attempts to think of cool metaphors to describe the moment stops. We're in the eye of the storm. But there is no storm -- only the impossible-to-translate experience of standing in the effortless radiance of Maharaji.
And then he turns and looks at me.
"So, Mitch, how are you feeling? Are you ready to MC?"
"Maharaji, I'm feeling really good," I say. "Yes, I am ready to MC."
Whatever residual nervousness or self-consciousness may have been clinging to me evaporated in that moment.
The next thing I know, the program has started and I'm onstage singing the blues...
"I woke up this morning,
I got off the plane,
Went to the airport,
My suitcase went to Spain,
They told me not to worry,
They'd bring it to me soon
'Soon coming' is a phrase I've heard
that could mean the end of June.
I woke up this morning,
Maharaji on my mind,
With oh, so many premies,
Would I have to wait in line?
Would I find myself a good seat
Or be stuck in the mezzanine?
I've heard of getting high,
but that's not really what I mean.
Maharaji, you're almost 50
Not to mention timeless, too
Can you tell me where's the usher
Who can seat me next to you?
I woke up this morning,
I practiced for an hour,
Did all techniques in order,
Then took a nice, hot shower,
Watched the news and checked my email,
Then brushed my last three hairs,
But I couldn't find my Smart Card,
Couldn't find it anywhere.
Maharaji, you're almost 50,
And five decades are complete,
Can you tell me where's the usher
Who can help me find my seat?
I woke up this morning,
Went down to the lobby,
Saw all of my friends,
Billy, Joe, Pam and Bobby,
Billy weighed 500 pounds,
Bobby had "special needs,"
Pamela had a triple chin
And Joe... could barely breathe.
But hey, they ain't my problem,
Don't matter what they do,
I came to San Diego, boss,
Only to see you,
So I ran straight to the program,
Dashed across the street,
Focused only on your birthday
And a front row seat.
Maharaji, you da man,
You da Hanuman of Love,
You da best friend that I got,
You da mezzanine above,
You da reason we have come here,
You da universal glue,
Maharaji, happy birthday,
Maharaji, we love you!!!!
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:18 PM | Comments (3)
July 05, 2008Give Everything You Have
Give everything you have,
and after you have given,
give what's left.
After you give what's left,
give what remains.
After giving that,
give the feeling of having given.
After giving the feeling
of having given,
give what you get
for having given.
Then give again,
never stopping, always giving.
And should it come to pass that you forget,
forgive yourself immediately.
Then begin again,
giving everything you have,
and after you have given,
give what's left.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:41 PM | Comments (0)
It's a Wonderful World Puppet ShowLouis Armstrong...shadow puppets...and you.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:30 PM | Comments (0)
July 04, 2008ASK YOURSELF THIS: "What Can I Do to Help?"
No matter what path you're on, used to be on, think about being on, can't remember you're on... or disbelieve there is any such thing as a "path," the question always remains the same:
"What can I do to help?"
In other words, how can you participate on planet Earth in a way that serves? Certainly, there must be something you can do to go beyond yourself and make a contribution.
In the end, it doesn't really matter what form your effort takes, as long as you are authentically stepping up to the plate and giving it your best to pitch in.
Maybe your effort to serve will have something to do with a "cause" or a Master. Maybe not. If you have a Master, maybe he or she is living. Maybe not. Maybe your Master is Maharaji... or Gurumayi... or the 17th Karmapa... or Thich Nhat Hanh... or Neem Karoli Baba... or Yogananda... or Buddha... or Lao Tzu... or Jesus... or countless other great souls who, from the beginning of time, have been reminding human beings about what's really important in this life.
Yes, the way they've communicated this message has differed, but the essence of the message has always been the same:
What you are searching for is already within you -- and you can experience it. Indeed, that's what you're here for.
Once you've experienced it -- no matter what adjective you use to describe it, it's time to give back -- time to participate... time to serve.
Or, as Bob Dylan once said, "You've got to serve somebody..."
No need to wait, like some wallflower at the High School prom, to be asked. Now's the time.
Start dancing!
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:12 PM | Comments (0)
Ahhh... Watermelon!
Somewhere along the line you've probably heard of this thing called a "Zen Koan"-- a question or statement that cannot be "gotten" by the rational mind.
For centuries, Zen Masters have used them as a way to confound their students' habit of thinking too much -- with the intention of shocking the mind into a state of true awareness.
Appropriate responses to a koan may vary according to circumstances. Different teachers may demand different responses to a given koan on a given day. A fixed answer cannot be correct in every circumstance.
Sound familiar?
The Master -- Zen or otherwise -- is not looking for an answer in a specific form, but for evidence that the student has grasped something beyond duality, beyond mind, beyond all the strategizing and mental static that separates the seeker from the finder.
And now for the moment of truth...
"Where do you get the seeds to grow seedless watermelons?"
If you think you know the answer (or better yet, don't think, but know the answer anyway), click "sign in" below and lay it on me. I'll be giving away a copy of my new book, Awake at the Wheel, to the three people who submit the best answer in any of the following categories:
1. Funniest
2. Most Zen-like
3. Most accurate
All responses will be posted HERE within the next two weeks. Stay tuned.
And now... go eat some watermelon!
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:58 AM | Comments (3)
July 03, 2008Maharaji in Corleone, Italy
This just in from Jule Kowarsky, Corleone, Italy: 1:43 am
"Corleone is a small town. The bus ride, from Palermo, took a little more than an hour and the route was lined with grapevines, hayfields, mountains, and a picturesque countryside. Grown men, baling and stacking hay, waved at our bus -- the way children wave to train engineers in rural areas.
The Corleone town square, named for two men, many years ago, who were shot for standing up to the Mafia, was smaller than a football field. The local organizers said the event could have been held indoors, but they wanted it in the open air so everyone in town could attend.
The dignitaries, in attendance, numbered about 50 dark-suited men. After meeting with Maharaji in a government building just up the street from the square, they followed him -- in a procession -- as he walked to the square.
The people of the town, standing on their balconies overhanging the square, cheered -- while mothers with small children waved and smiled. A glowing Maharaji smiled and waved back. The mayors of many surrounding municipalities radiated a beautiful pride as they filed into their seats.
During the event more and more people entered the square. Even the scrawny town dogs couldn't stay away! Looking at the old men sitting in front, their places of business and homes at the edge of the square, brought to mind the old photos of Italian communities in New York in the early 20th century.
Huge posters announcing the event were all over town and a car with a loud speaker drove around, inviting people to the square before the event began.
Before Maharaji spoke, local dignitaries got up and made many references to the infamy of Corleone and the Mafia. One very shy man mentioned that he was working on returning land to its rightful owners that had been confiscated years ago.
Before Maharaji began his talk, each dignitary offered a warm expression of gratitude -- mentioning how glad they were that Maharaji had come to Corleone to plant the seeds of Peace.
Here's what I remember Maharaji saying at the event...
He explained that what you practice you will get good at. If you practice kindness, you will get good at kindness. If you practice anger you will get good at anger.
He then spoke of a famous archer who would shoot an arrow high into the air and, while it flew, would split the arrow with a second one. The archer demonstrated this for a bunch of people one day and a single voice from the crowd would repeat "It is just a matter of practice."
After the demonstration, the archer approached the heckler and asked him if he knew how difficult it was to perform his arrow-halving feat.
The man replied "Yes, I do -- but it is just a matter of practice. Follow me".
He then took the archer to a place where he worked filling bottles with oil. The man placed a Chinese coin, with a hole in the center, over the top of bottle. He then took a ladle of oil and proceeded to pour the oil into the bottle without spilling a single drop on the coin!
"It's just a matter of practice," he repeated once again.
Maharaji then spoke about the fact that it is human beings who have created the problems we face and that it is human beings who will resolve them. He spoke of the equanimity of nature which does not say, "I do not like you... no fruit will grow for you".
He spoke of how clouds are created and noted that wars are not created in the same way -- that they begin in the minds of men.
Towards the end of the event, Maharaji expressed how important it was for the Coreleone residents not to dwell on their past, but to look to the future.
He went on to say that people from "tiny villages in India" to cities all around the world would soon be seeing the video of this event, and that the people of Corleone should be proud to know that everyone will be speaking of their town as a place that truly embraces peace and sows it seed.
At that point, everyone stood up and cheered.
The mayor thanked Maharaji again and, instead of referring to him as Mr. Rawat or Prem Rawat, embraced him and called him the Maestro of Peace.
PS: Here's a slide show of Maharaji's events in Palermo and Corleone...
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:04 AM | Comments (4)
July 02, 2008Hidden Goodies for You
If you like what you see on this blog, I invite you to click on the April, March, February, and January links in the archives (located in the sidebar). There you will find another 81 postings which you will not be able to access any other way.
Like this one for seekers with only a minute to spare.
Or this one about the joy of heckling at a dinner party with Maharaji.
Or this piece of cosmic wisdom from Woody Allen.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:26 PM | Comments (0)
Snow Day
Growing up in New York, there were three things I found utterly amazing. The accents of people from other places, baseball, and snow days.
If you're from California, Mexico, or Hawaii, you probably know what the first two are all about. But the third? Please allow me to explain.
A snow day, for those of you who have never experienced winter, is an unexpected day off from school granted by a benevolent universe. You go to bed at night, dreading your history test the next day, and wake up with three feet of snow outside your window -- your mother telling you (having just heard it on the radio) that school is closed.
It's a snow day!
Somehow, while you slept, the whole world shut down. Everything came to a halt. The only thing you can see out your window is a solitary bird looking for food and the kid next door, arms outstretched, making snow angels.
You jump for joy! Yahoo! Hallelujah!
Gone is the need to rush through breakfast. Gone is the need to catch the bus. Gone is the need to perform.
All bets are off. Your time is your own. You are free!
You look out the window and everything is white. The jagged edges of the world have been softened, curved, and relaxed. Everything is still, as if the God you've heard so much about in Sunday school has just hit the pause button.
You have time to slow down, time to admire, time to do nothing at all -- and feel really good about it. After all, this isn't a sick day, it's a snow day -- a complete and utter gift... an unexpected bit of grace... an inheritance you didn't realize was on its way.
For me, the experience of Maharaji's Knowledge is a bit like that.
And the ultimate beauty of the whole thing? You don't have to wait for an "Act of God," while you sleep, to enjoy its benefits. It's with you every second of the day, every breath.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:54 AM | Comments (0)
